


The little things that give you away

by ljummen (Vendelin)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Not Hockey Player(s), Grad student Sid, M/M, Penguins captain Geno, brief angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-21 02:04:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14906333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vendelin/pseuds/ljummen
Summary: When the Pittsburgh Penguins’ captain Evgeni Malkin complains about his lack of date for Valentine’s Day on social media, Sid can’t help but think that he could fix that problem easily. Well, if he was someone other than a grad student. He just didn’t expect his friends to actually make it happen.





	The little things that give you away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CreepingSoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreepingSoul/gifts).



> This is a fic for _CreepingSoul_. I hope you'll enjoy! 
> 
> The photoset/graphic is made by [Knifeshoeoreofight](http://knifeshoeoreofight.tumblr.com), and I have [werebear](http://werebeary.tumblr.com) to thank for the beta work. 
> 
> I didn’t use the real twitter handles, because I don’t want anyone to be able to google themselves here.

Sid doesn’t particularly like working evenings at the local coffee chain, but it’s decent money to fill out his tight budget as a grad student. It’s bearable, because Flower and Tanger usually work with him.

“So your home boy posted on Instagram,” Flower says during their break. They’re crammed into the staff lunch room of barely 60 square feet of dark fake wood, with the balloon station pushed into the corner. Sid usually forgoes his break if he has to take it while someone (usually Flower) works on a balloon arch in here at the same time.

Sid knows exactly who he’s referring to, but he’s not going to give Flower the satisfaction of acknowledging that. “Who?”

“Malkin.”

He’s avoided most social media platforms, and if he’s starting his master’s without a Facebook account, he can survive the rest of his life without Instagram. Pittsburgh Penguins has a website that works perfectly fine. And there’s google.

“And?”

Flower pushes his phone across the table. There’s a picture of a burger—bigger than a normal sized person’s head by the looks of it—and the caption beneath it says. _Best restaurant, best burger. Best place for Valentine date if I have one._ Followed by a number of sad emojis.

“And?” Sid says again, despite the pleased feeling spreading in his stomach. He’s had a hockey crush on Evgeni Malkin, the Pens’ captain, ever since he got drafted. Flower and Tanger have long since figured out that it’s not just the beautiful hockey that speaks to him.

“You should tell him that he’s got the perfect Valentine’s date in you.”

“Or not.”

Flower opens his mouth to say something more, but he shuts it when Sid glares at him. “Fine, pine for the rest of your life instead.”

“I think I will.”

Despite not using social media much, Sid doesn’t live under a rock. There’s a reason he vowed to stay away from all of it to begin with. Plus, he’s seen enough articles on news sites about fans sending inappropriate messages to celebrities. He’s not going to be one of them. He’s not under any false pretense that Geno would ever see him on the street and fall in love, or daydreaming about being his husband one day. He thinks Geno is hot and plays the best hockey Sid’s ever seen. It’s just Flower and Tanger who always need to take it a step further.

When he comes home that night, he watches the Pens’ game he missed yesterday. He already knows the end result, but Geno scored twice and Murray made a great save. And Sid likes hockey, so there’s that.

Sid is cleaning the coffee machine after closing the next day, when Flower sidles up to him and grins. That’s never a good sign. If they ordered Sid a stripper again, he’s going home. He won’t even tip.

“What did you do?”

“Don’t kill me, but I have to show you this.”

Flower shoves his phone forward, and there’s a tweet from Tanger’s account (the handle is k_letang, Sid can put two-and-two together). A direct tweet to emalkin71. Unease prickles at his neck, and it gets even worse as he reads the actual tweet. _Our friend Sid is a perfect date for Valentine’s. How many RTs do we need for you to take him out for those burgers on a Valentine’s date?_ Sid is ready to dig his own grave, until he notices that there are four photos attached. And they’re all of him. He’s okay with dying without the grave.

“Are you kidding me?” he asks Flower, his pulse picking up with every second that passes. This is so crossing a line. Geno is going to think that he’s being harassed.

“It’s fun.” Flower shrugs and then he squeezes Sid’s shoulder, like maybe his internal freakout is obvious on his face. “It’s not like he’s ever going to see it or respond anyway, you know? From what I saw, he had like five tweets calling him _daddy_.”

Sid lets out a breath. So maybe it’s not the worst thing Geno has ever received. “Jesus, okay. Also, fuck you for pimping me out like that.”

“I’ll be your best man if this means Malkin proposes to you.”

Rolling his eyes, Sid wipes off the top of the machine and then moves on to the next one.

As it turns out, Flower is right. Geno doesn’t respond to the tweet, and Sid doesn’t have to worry about Flower and Tanger trying to get thousands of people to retweet pictures of him, so that he can get a dinner with Geno for Valentine’s Day.

It’s a late night in the library, trying to finish up a report, when Tanger crashes down in the chair next to him. It’s a wonder its legs don’t break.

“We’re in a library,” Sid points out, without looking up from his computer. “You’re supposed to be quiet. And didn’t you say at dinner that you were going to bed early?”

“I was in bed,” Tanger says, sounding out of breath. “But then Flower called, and you need to watch something.”

“I don’t have time.” But Sid glances up then, and Tanger is usually the best dressed person he knows, but right now he’s in those ratty sweats he wears before he goes to bed, and a t-shirt that must be from his high school days, underneath a zip hoodie with a hole in the sleeve. If he’s dressed like that where other people can see him, something must’ve happened. He’s just about to ask, when Tanger puts his phone down on the keyboard of Sid’s laptop, a video preloaded and waiting for him to press play. Geno’s sweaty face is on the screen. It looks like an interview from the locker room. “When is this from?”

“Today. Seriously, watch it.”

Did Geno get injured? Is he retiring? He’s thirty-two, sure, but he’s getting better with every season in Sid’s opinion. He saves his document and folds the lid of his laptop down just a bit, as he grabs Tanger’s phone and presses play.

At first it’s just the reports asking Geno about the practice, and how he’s feeling about the game tomorrow. Sid’s staying up late studying tonight, because he wants to watch if he can. It’s always intense against Flyers. But then, towards the end of the interview, a reporter says:

_“Geno, this isn’t hockey related, but a few days ago you posted on Instagram about not having a date for Valentine’s?”_

Geno frowns, his bottom lip jutting out slightly. _“Yes?”_

_“Are you still looking?”_

Geno’s frown deepens, and so does Sid’s. _“Not find boyfriend yet, no.”_

 _“Because there’s an offer for you on Twitter, I thought you might want to see.”_ The reporter holds out his phone for Geno, who takes it. He’s clearly reading something, lips moving slightly, and then he taps on the screen a couple of times. _“So, what do you think? How many retweets do they need for you to take their friend on a Valentine’s date?”_

A grin spreads over Geno’s face, and his frown smooths out. _“No need for retweet. They contact my manager. We go on date.”_

Sid can’t remember how to breathe for a second. “Maybe it’s someone else who tweeted the same thing,” he tries, but Tanger shakes his head.

“Dude, no, I just got a direct message from Penguins’ PR asking me for more information. This is _happening_.”

Oh no it fucking isn’t. Sid isn’t going to brand himself as that crazy fan. “I’m not going.”

Tanger gives him a flat look. “Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s not.”

“It _is_. I’ll come off as a weird stalker fan.”

Rolling his eyes, Tanger kicks his feet up on the table. “No, because _we_ tweeted him. Not you.”

Sid gives the phone back and pushes Tanger’s feet off the table. “I’m not going. Get out of my face, I need to finish this report.”

With a heavy sigh, Tanger gets up from the chair and leaves the library. Sid can’t quite concentrate on the report, but he has to finish it anyway. His brain takes over completely as he heads back home, a quarter to three at night. It’s cold out, being just a week into February. It’s nothing compared to Canada, obviously, but he still pulls his coat tighter around him as he hurries across the school grounds.

They have an apartment just outside the on-campus housing, and Sid is lucky that he managed to befriend two other Canadians during his first year. They’ve shared the place since second year, when neither of them felt like sticking to dorms any longer.

The place is quiet when Sid locks the door behind him. He crams two PBJ sandwiches before he heads into his bedroom. It’s on the smaller side, with a single bed  and a bookcase on one wall, and a desk and a dresser on the other. It’s good enough for him, though. The bed is comfortable, even though it’s barely wide enough to fit him, and unlike the dorm room he stayed in during his first year, there’s no draft from the window. It’s also clean with no weird stains on the carpet. When he dumps his bag on the desk chair, he notices a picture next to his lecture print outs. It’s a photo of Geno and a really ugly speech bubble, cut from what looks like the lid of a pizza box, saying: _“Sid, let’s go on date. I teach you Russian kiss.”_ in Flower’s handwriting. That’s probably offensive on some level.

Fuck.

His pulse picks up and his fingers itch to grab his phone and find the interview Tanger showed him a few hours ago. He should get ready for bed first. He brushes his teeth in a rush and once he’s under the covers, he plugs in his headphones and scrolls through the Penguins’ app and the off day interview videos there.

Pausing over the one with Geno, Sid tries to control his breathing. Fuck. This can’t be happening. For once, he’ll be grateful if this is all just some kind of over the top joke from Flower and Tanger. He’s not capable of having dinner with Geno. Especially not on Valentine’s Day. _Definitely_ not as some kind of PR thing.

He watches the interview from start to finish again, but it’s the same as the video Tanger showed him. And then he replays the sequence when Geno reads Tanger’s tweet four times. Geno starts to smile somewhere after tapping the screen, and then scrolling to the side. Is he reading more of Tanger’s tweets? Sid has no clue how Twitter works, but Geno is definitely grinning when he looks up at the reporter again.

Fuck.

Sid stands firm with his refusal to go on said Valentine’s date with Geno, until the restaurant in question announces that they’re going to donate all the profits from that day to Pittsburgh’s Children’s Hospital if Geno takes his date (aka Sid) there for the dinner as hinted in his Instagram post.

“Honestly,” Flower says as he sits down on Sid’s bed that night. “I know you’re super uncomfortable with this, and that’s fine. I wouldn’t have pushed you if this wasn’t a great way to make something good out of it.”

Chewing his lip, Sid pretends to read over his notes, but his mind is spinning. “He’s going to think I’m a creepy fan.”

“No,” Flower sighs. “We’ve been over this already. He could’ve said no. He could’ve pretended for the interview that he was interested and the team’s PR wouldn’t have reached out anyway. Do it for charity. You like kids. Now you have a chance to pick your favorite player’s brain, have a good meal for free, and make sure sick kids get better.”

“I’ll think about it,” Sid says finally.

“Well, think fast because Valentine’s is the day after tomorrow.”

Sid goes to bed early that night—there’s no use in studying when his brain his so caught up in this entire ordeal. Flower is right—he really has a chance to pick Geno’s brain and ask him everything he’s always wanted. And Sid loves kids, so if him being uncomfortable in a restaurant for a couple of hours and they get a bunch of money for his suffering? It’s probably worth it.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” he tells Flower and Tanger over breakfast the next day.

“Thank god,” Tanger mutters. “I’ve already prepared your outfit.”

“What?”

“You gotta look banging if you wanna get banged.” Flower shrugs, as though this is a completely normal thing to say.

“I’m doing it for the kids.”

“Sure,” Tanger says, at the same time as Flower nods:

“Yes, of course.”

His friends are terrible, but it kind of dawns on him the following morning, February 14th, that he’s having dinner with Evgeni Malkin tonight. And it’s not a lucid dream from pain killers, like when they pulled his wisdom teeth.

It’s an early dinner, 6 p.m., but that’s great. That means it’s just a polite PR thing for Geno as well. Maybe he’s also doing it for the kids.

“These pants are too small,” he tells Tanger after zipping them up.

“No, they’re the _right_ size.”

“My ass looks too big.”

“If you’ve got it, flaunt it.” Flower says from Tanger’s bed, without looking up from his phone. He’s probably taking sneaky pictures and texting Vero between takes.

“Well, the rest of you doesn’t look like a tent, so that’s always good.” Tanger rolls his eyes when Sid tugs at his polo shirt. “That’s the right size too. I don’t know why you try and hide in your clothes. That’s not what they’re there for.”

“I feel like I might as well be naked in these.”

“I’m sure Malkin would appreciate that,” Flower pipes up.

“But _I_ wouldn’t, so you’re wearing this.” Tanger helps him with his hair too, meaning that he steals Sid’s gel almost before Sid has had a chance to put any in his hair.

“You’re going to be late if you don’t go now,” Tanger points out when Sid’s going to protest. He checks his phone, and shit, he’s right. “You look good. No one’s going to tweet pictures of you and wonder what the heck you were thinking.”

“People are going to tweet pictures of me?” Sid asks, feeling faint, as he puts on his coat.

“He said _if_ ,” Flower says.

“No he didn’t,” Sid protests.

“The cab is waiting for you.” Tanger pushes him out the door and locks it, as though he wants to make sure Sid isn’t going to come back inside and refuse to leave. It’s tempting but Sid is really hungry and if his awkwardness can help sick kids, it’ll be worth it. Probably.

He half-expects media to greet him when he steps out of the cab outside of the restaurant. There’s no one. Resisting the urge to go back into the cab and go back home, Sid walks through the front doors and looks around. It’s definitely an expensive place, but the staff and the guests are dressed quite casually. Thank god. Tanger obviously did his research on this.

A girl from the staff approaches him with a friendly smile. “How can I help you?”

“I’m, uh, I’m here to meet someone.”

“Let’s have a look.” She points towards the iPad lying on the counter. “What’s the name of the person you’re meeting up with?”

Sid hesitates. Is he allowed to say this? He must be. The restaurant promised their profits to charity. “Malkin.”

She looks up, smile widening on her face. “Oh, it’s _you!_ This is gonna be such a great evening. He’s not here yet, but we have your table ready for you. Come this way.”

Thankfully, their table is towards the back, not entirely separated from the rest of the restaurant, but shielded away enough that Sid won’t have to worry about someone recording his stilted tries at polite conversation. That’s a relief.

“He’s usually a little late. Don’t take it personally.” She smiles again and fills his glass with water from the pitcher, before she disappears.

On the one hand, he’s grateful to be left alone. On the other, that’s the last thing he wants right now. Shrugging out of his coat, Sid looks around. Everyone else has put theirs over the back of their chair, so he does the same and sits down.

He’s five minutes early. By how much is Geno usually late?

The digital clock on his phone ticks closer and closer to twenty minutes past, when a heavy hand lands on his shoulder. Looking up, and up, Sid stares right into the smiling face of Evgeni Malkin.

“You Sid?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Sid’s voice breaks a little and his face grows warm, as they shake hands.

“Geno. Sorry for late.” Geno pulls a face. “So much traffic.”

“It’s okay.”

“He’s been waiting almost thirty minutes, Geno,” the waitress says, sounding stern.

“Most sorry,” Geno assures him and slides into the seat opposite of Sid’s. “I’m little bit time optimist.”

“It’s okay,” Sid says again.

It’s so strange, seeing Geno in real life, up close like this. He’s got kind eyes, a little darker in shade than what they seem in locker room interviews. A wide smile that makes Sid want to undo another button of his polo shirt. From here, he can see the faint scar on Geno’s cheekbone from that skate years ago. And his lips aren’t chapped for once. He looks so good in a white henley and jeans, casual like Sid, and like he’s spent some time on his hair. His hands are _huge_ where they’re folded on the table.

God, Sid is staring.

“Friends tell me you shy,” Geno says and his smile grows warmer.

“I’m just not used to this,” Sid says, resisting the urge to fiddle with his napkin.

“Hockey player or date?”

It’s out before Sid has a chance to stop it: “Both.”

Geno reaches over and squeezes his hand. “Is okay, I’m good at date and hockey. I help.”

Sid snorts and reaches for his glass of water when Geno pulls his hand away. “Good to know.”

At that, Geno grins like Sid’s in on a joke and Sid’s chest expands. He hasn’t had time for dates in forever, and when his last relationship ended just towards the end of his bachelor degree, he just couldn’t find the energy to find a new one. He hooks up on occasion, but he never exchanges numbers or agrees to stay the night.

“I’m sorry my friends made you do this,” Sid says after Geno has ordered their drinks.

“Why sorry? Is fun, no?” Geno leans back in his chair and just looks at him. If only Sid could read his thoughts.

“Yeah, but I assume you’d rather pick your own dates.”

Shaking his head, Geno takes a sip from his glass. “I decide. I say yes we go on date after I see tweet and picture. Is fun idea. I never do before and I think why not?”

Relaxing slightly, Sid tastes his wine. It’s way better than any kind he’s had at a college party. “This is good.”

“Glad you think.” Geno leans forward, elbows on the table. “Tell me little bit about yourself?”

“I’m doing my master’s degree in history at Pitt.” Sid shrugs. “I played hockey for a while, but then I injured my foot and just never got back to it. I still watch a lot of hockey, though.”

“You go to games?”

“No, I’m in college,” Sid says, as a way of explanation. If he could afford hockey tickets he wouldn’t eat ramen four times a week.

“I get you tickets. Bring friends who make this happen.” Geno smiles. “What you like with history?”

 _Everything_ , Sid wants to say. “It’s fascinating how you can see the domino effect of certain events. I like how I can look at something going on in society now, and sort of trace it back to something that’s happened before. To me, history isn’t knowing certain dates, or names of kings and presidents, and what not. It’s more about how events affected, or even caused, other events. How we’re still affected by what happened hundreds of years ago.”

Geno’s gaze is soft when Sid looks up. “You want teach?”

“I think so.”

“You be great. Maybe I go to class when I retire.”

“I’m not sure about that.” Sid isn’t a huge fan of talking in front of the class as it is. “I have a lot to improve on.”

“Everyone have.”

“I feel like you keep getting better every year,” Sid says, before he can stop himself. “People keep saying that you’re past your prime, that this is the last season you’re going to lead the Pens to playoffs, etcetera. But then you just keep doing these incredible things. You’ve scored almost every game the past few weeks.”

“I’m old,” Geno says. “So I have find way to play different. Not so fast anymore, so maybe I have to play more physical, or more technique. You know?”

Sid knows that’s bullshit. He watched a game just last week where Geno outskated three guys from the other team, straight from the penalty box, and scored. It was _ridiculous._ And also hot.

“You look pretty fast to me.”

Geno smirks. “I like you. Maybe I keep. Good for confidence.”

“Bad for your ego, though,” the waitress says as she stops by their table. “Are you gentlemen ready to order?”

Shit, Sid hasn’t even looked at the menu yet.

“Is okay I’m order for you?” Geno asks. “I want you try my favorite.”

Sid usually hates when other people order for him. He wants to know what he’s about to put in his body. But now he nods. “Okay.”

Geno holds his gaze for a moment longer, before he looks over at the waitress again and orders with a familiarity of someone who’s here way too often.

When she brings the food to their table a little while later, Geno stops her. “Maybe you take picture for Instagram. Okay with you, Sid?”

Sid doesn’t like getting his picture taken, but this entire thing mostly feels like a dream right now, so picture proof of it actually happening might be good.

“Sure.”

Geno gestures for him to move his chair closer, and Sid’s entire body grows hot when Geno puts his arm over the back of Sid’s chair. Like it belongs there. Like it’s an actual date. He manages to smile for the picture, but unable to think of anything but the warmth radiating from Geno’s body.

He hasn’t gotten laid in a couple of months, and Geno smells _so good_.

“I post?” Geno asks him, his arm still on Sid’s chair, and shows him the picture on his phone.

It’s a good picture. Sid looks happy, smiling wide at the camera, if a little flushed. Geno looks confident, with a big smile and leaning into Sid’s space like he belongs there.

“If you want.”

“I think everyone need to know how lucky I am for good Valentine date.” Geno grins at him, and instead of making Sid move his chair back, he reaches over the table and drags the plate closer instead. “This more nice. Okay?”

If Sid didn’t know better, he’d think Geno was flirting with him for real. “Sure, it’s kind of loud in here.”

By the time they’re finished with the main course, Sid is a little buzzed and close to certain that Geno actually _is_ flirting with him. He’s stroked Sid’s arm twice and complimented him a number of times. Sid has asked anything he can think of when it comes to Geno, that’s not overly invasive or private. In turn, he’s talked about school, his friends and his current assignment. Now, Geno’s hand slides over to his thigh, burning through the fabric of Sid’s jeans like it’s a thousand degrees hot.

“You want dessert?”

“Do they have cheesecake?” Sid asks and looks up at Geno. Geno is staring at his mouth. That’s…that’s a good sign.

“We ask. If they not have, maybe they make for you.”

“Oh, they don’t have to do that,” Sid protests, but stops short when Geno squeezes his thigh before retracting his hand.

“They do.”

Sid wants desperately to pull Geno’s hand back to where it was. As it turns out, the restaurant really does have cheesecake on the menu and Geno orders him an extra large slice, and a glass of wine for himself.

“You have good time?” Geno asks him when Sid is halfway through his cheesecake, and strokes his hand up Sid’s forearm to his bicep and down again. Sid isn’t a small person, but Geno’s hands are big enough for him to feel as such. Geno touching him so easily, casually, makes Sid’s skin prickle in anticipation.

“Very,” Sid says truthfully. “Have you?”

“Most good time.” Geno’s gaze falls to Sid’s mouth again, as he licks cheesecake frosting from his bottom lip. “I’m ask you something?”

The tone of his voice makes heat pool low in Sid’s belly.

“Sure.”

“When you finish with dessert, you want maybe come home with me, have more drink, talk more?”

Sid might not have gone on dates with the people he’s slept with lately, but he’s pretty sure this is just another way of saying _Mine or yours?_

“I’d like that a lot.”

Geno’s gaze darkens and turns so heavy that the little doubt Sid had of interpreting this right goes out the window immediately. Geno leaves his arm over the back of Sid’s chair for the remainder of the dessert.

“You drive here?” Geno asks after he pays the bill. Sid pretends not to see the ridiculous amount of tip he leaves. It’s for charity.

“No, I took a cab.”

“Okay, I drive you home later.” Geno’s hand is warm and heavy at the small of his back, just a touch away from Sid’s ass, and he kind of wants Geno to go there, but they’re in public and it’s probably not a good look for the gossip sites.

Geno’s car is ridiculous, definitely the kind that Sid would roll his eyes over if he saw it on the street. Right now however, as he texts Tanger and Flower to let them know that he's probably not coming home tonight, he’s just happy that Geno drives so fast, because it takes them to the house quicker. It’s overly large for one person, but in a good neighbourhood, so maybe Geno put priority on not getting any unwanted visitors in his backyard over something more reasonable in size. Or maybe he just likes ostentatious things.

Geno parks in the driveway, and his hand is on Sid’s back again as soon as they’re walking towards the house. It slides lower with every step they take and Sid shivers in anticipation. Once they’re inside, Geno takes his coat and hangs it up, and Sid is left staring at the massive entryway with a staircase curving towards the second floor. It hits him then that Geno isn’t just another college guy he’s picked up at a frat party somewhere.

A moment later Geno moves up behind him, hands on Sid’s hips like they belong there, and he says: “You want more to drink?”

“Aren’t you going to fuck me?” Sid asks. He’s never been good at whatever game people tend to play. If he wants something, he’ll ask.

Geno’s hands squeezes his waist at his words, as if on reflex, and for a second Sid thinks he’s been mistaken, until Geno takes another step closer, his front pressing up against Sid’s back. And oh, he’s so fucking tall.

“You want?”

“Yeah. Isn’t that why you invited me?”

“I invite because I like dinner, have a good time, think you so hot. Hope maybe we fuck, but not require. Would have great evening if we only have more drink and talk, too.”

His breath is hot against Sid’s ear and the back of his neck. He shivers.

“Same for me,” he says, because it’s important that Geno knows he doesn’t expect sex as a part of this...whatever this deal is. “But I really want to.”

Geno slides his hand from Sid’s hip to his stomach, and then slowly lower, cupping him through his jeans for a moment, where Sid’s rapidly getting hard, before he moves back. “I think maybe drink first.”

Letting out a breath in frustration, Sid turns around. “Really?”

Geno smiles, stroking Sid’s cheek before he nods. “Not want rush. I say I have good evening, not want it be over yet.”

Oh. Okay. “Alright then.”

Geno takes him to his den and Sid gets lost in the comfortable couch, the good wine, and Geno’s thigh pressing against his as they talk. Geno watches him drain the last of his wine and helps put the empty glass on the coffee table. Then his hands are on Sid’s thighs, pulling him closer, turning him so he’s facing Geno more directly.

Sliding his hands up, Geno’s thumbs move up under Sid’s shirt and strokes the skin on his stomach, giving Sid goosebumps.

“You sure you want?”

“Sex?” Sid asks to clarify.

“Yes, sex.”

“Yeah, I definitely want that.”

Geno cups his cheek, thumb tracing Sid’s bottom lip. “What you say if I ask you on second date?”

“Aren’t you supposed to ask that after the sex?” Sid says to buy himself some time. A second date? With _Geno?_ It sounds too good to be true.

“No, I ask before so you not think sex is require for more date.”

For a tough hockey player, Geno is clearly very concerned about Sid knowing that he has choices.

“I’d like a second date,” Sid says then and gets up on his knees, kissing Geno to let him know that he means this, too.

Geno makes a low sound and pulls Sid closer by the waist. He kisses like no one else Sid has ever kissed; focused and as though kissing Sid is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Sid is out of breath when they pull apart, and already hard in his pants.

“I think we go upstairs,” Geno says. “Couch is bad place for first time.”

“It’s not my first time,” Sid says with a roll of his eyes.

Geno mimics him. “I know this, but is first time with _me._ ”

The bedroom is larger than the combined kitchen and living room in Sid’s shared apartment, and the bed looks big enough to fit four people without much trouble. Geno disappears into the bathroom and puts a box of condoms and a fresh bottle of lube on the bedside table when he comes back.

Sid can’t help but shiver in anticipation. Geno is really going to fuck him. Just as he’s about to ask how Geno wants him, he’s pulled into another kiss. It’s a little harder this time, and Sid groans when Geno pushes him down on the bed.

“You look good in my bed,” Geno says before climbing on top of him, slotting himself between Sid’s legs, and the heavy weight of his body makes Sid want to grind up against him.

It’s desperate in a way that Sid isn’t used to. He knows the sort of desperate that comes with being too fucking horny to care. But this is something different. Every time Geno touches him his spine lights up, and Geno covers every inch of newly revealed skin with his mouth or his hands. Or both. Like he can’t get enough of touching Sid.

He goes slow, taking time to set Sid on fire and make him fall apart. He’s dizzy and achingly hard when Geno finally pulls his briefs off and they’re both sweaty and naked on the bed.

Geno pushes up on one arm then, his gaze dragging down over Sid’s body, so heavy that he can almost feel it on his skin. He wants to blush, but the appreciative sound Geno lets out only makes him twitch and leak against his stomach.

“Like what you see?” he manages, and he sounds way too coherent for the mess that’s his brain.

“So pretty,” Geno says and drags a hand down his chest, stomach and curves his long fingers around Sid’s dick, making him arch into his grasp. “Want I’m suck you off?”

“No.” Sid shakes his head rapidly. “I mean, I want to, but if you do I’m going to come and I want to come on your dick.”

Geno kisses him again, slow, a little filthy. “Okay. I’m give you my dick.”

He fingers Sid with such a patience that Sid wouldn’t think Geno was that into this, if his dick didn’t smear precome on Sid’s thigh every time Geno accidentally rubs against it, and the way Geno tenses and groans every time he does.

“Come on,” Sid says finally, batting at Geno’s hand. “Please.”

When Geno pulls his fingers out, Sid rolls over on his stomach and gets on his knees. He’s instantly rewarded by Geno’s low, appreciative groan and his hands on Sid’s ass.

“Amazing ass,” Geno says and Sid laughs at the awe in his voice. “I’m serious.”

“So put your dick in it already.”

Geno is big enough that the stretch makes Sid’s eyes roll back in his head and for a second he’s sure he’s going to come right away, like Geno’s size alone is enough to make him lose it. But fuck, he’s never been with anyone this big before, and maybe he has a thing. His fantasies really didn’t measure up to the reality.

“Okay?” Geno asks, when he’s finally all the way in, and Sid can’t _breathe_.

“I won’t be if you don’t start fucking me.”

Geno laughs and presses soft kisses against Sid’s neck, before he puts his hands on top of Sid’s on the bed.

“Tell me stop if too much,” he says and Sid is just about to complain again, when Geno pulls out and then pushes back in. And _fuck_.

“ _Yes,”_ Sid groans and arches his back.

Geno clearly knows what he’s doing, because once he’s got a rhythm going, Sid can’t do anything but moan and sob into the mattress, praying that he’s not going to come too soon.

He comes before Geno does, loud and messy, and without a warning, but he still manages to say: “Keep fucking me.”

And he’s on the verge of over sensitive when Geno finally comes with a low, pleased groan that makes Sid entire body warm.

He’s already drifting when Geno cleans them up and melts a little more when Geno curls up behind him on the bed, pressing sweet kisses to his cheek and neck, and saying something in Russian. Sid smiles as he falls asleep.

◊

It’s early when Sid wakes. The sunlight turns the inside of his eyelids pink and he stretches; the silky sheets are gloriously smooth against his skin. When did his bed get this comfortable? And then it hits him—he’s not home. It takes a second before he remembers the dinner, and _Geno_. Opening his eyes, he squints against the light flooding through the large bedroom windows, where they forgot to draw the curtains last night, before he looks over his shoulder. There, sleeping on his back and snoring lightly, is Geno. His hair is mussed and his mouth still a little red since last night’s endeavours. Sid swallows.

So it really happened.

He waits for the panic to settle in, but it never comes. Instead he turns over, watching Geno for a second. He’s soft like this, his face younger and mouth even more pouty. His shoulders and arms, the long expanse of his torso—Sid swallows again. Hesitating for only a second, he moves in closer, pressing a small kiss to Geno’s chest and then shoulder. The bed is warmer here, and he still smells so good.

The blush creeps up on his own cheeks, as Sid recognizes the soreness in his own body. His ass feels sensitive, just from moving around like this, but in a way he’s long since accepted that he likes.

When he presses another kiss to Geno’s throat, Geno makes a confused sound and then another, low and pleased, like maybe he’d first forgotten about last night as well.

“Morning,” he says, voice thick with disuse, and then traces Sid’s spine from his neck, down to his ass, one of his large hands splaying out to squeeze Sid’s ass cheek. Geno makes the same kind of appreciative sound he did last night, when Sid turned over on his stomach for him.

“Morning,” Sid says, getting up on an elbow to look at Geno properly.

“Sleep well?” Geno asks, smiling soft and warm, like he can’t think of anything better than waking up with Sid in his bed.

“Very. Did you?”

“Most good I sleep in long time.” Geno smirks and heat pools low in Sid’s belly, making his skin crawl in anticipation. “Sore?” Geno asks then, but he squeezes Sid’s ass again, making it clear what kind of soreness he’s talking about.

“A bit,” Sid says as he swings a leg over Geno and then leans down to kiss him, slow, with purpose. “Just the way I like it.”

Geno groans and shakes his head. “I think maybe I’m little bit die.”

Laughing, Sid kisses him again and reaches for the lube on the nightstand. “Get me ready.”

They go slow, and he rides Geno with a leisurely grind of his hips. Geno looks up at him the entire time, eyes heavy-lidded and hot, his hands sure and warm on Sid’s hips until Sid gets too desperate, losing his rhythm, and Geno strokes him until he comes. Geno grinds into him a few times, where he’s collapsed on Geno’s chest, and then comes too.

Geno showers first and then, when he comes back out again, he presses a row of warm kisses to Sid’s neck where he’s lying face down on the bed. “I make breakfast and you shower?”

Sid can’t help but smile into the pillow. “Okay.”

He puts on his clothes from last night and grimaces as he buttons the jeans. If this was a... _thing_ he’d ask Geno to borrow some clothes, probably. But Sid never stays the night like this and he doesn’t know what _morning after-protocol_ entails. Fishing his phone from his pocket, he presses the home button. Nothing. It wasn’t like he thought of asking Geno to borrow his charger last night. Oh well. He’ll charge it once he’s home.

Going to find Geno, he picks up the smell of bacon as he reaches the staircase, and manages to find the kitchen mostly because of that. His sense of direction has never been that great. It’s overly large, as most things in Geno’s house, and ostentatious—also as most things in Geno’s house. It’s more homey, though, than the dining room that looks like it’s never been used. There are photos on the fridge, papers on the kitchen island, and a hoodie hanging over the back of one of the bar stools. Geno’s at the stove, in a white t-shirt and grey sweats, moving bacon onto two plates. There are eggs too, and a plate of fruit. Sid’s mouth waters.

As he steps into the room, he notices the digital clock on the microwave: 10:23 a.m. Not that late, then.

Geno looks up from the pan and smiles at him. “You like coffee or tea?”

“Coffee sounds good.” Sid smiles back, and his belly grows warm, like it doesn’t get that this is casual, despite Geno being so….so _domestic_ , with making him breakfast.

“In pot. You pour for me too? Mugs in cabinet over maker.”

Sid pushes away the awkwardness—Geno did say last night that he wants a second date. As he retrieves two mugs and fills them with steaming, incredible-smelling coffee, Sid thinks that maybe he wants a second date too.

“Do you want anything in your coffee?” he asks. He goes with milk himself, but he doesn’t want to be a bother if Geno takes his black.

“Lots of sugar. Maybe three spoon?”

Sid looks around for sugar and finds a small bowl next to the coffee maker. He puts three spoons in one of the mugs and then hesitates. If this was just casual, he would’ve had his coffee without milk and then not cared more about it—because he wasn’t coming back. Now, though…

“Do you have any milk? Uh, I usually have milk in my coffee.”

“I think yes, look in fridge. Can take whatever you want. Maybe you want juice too for breakfast? You take if you want.”

Sid adds milk to his coffee while Geno removes the pan from the stove, and places the plates on the island.

“I think we eat here, okay?”

“Sure.” That’s more relaxed and exactly what Sid needs right now.

“I have meeting in two hour, but I drive you home first.” Geno makes a face. “If I’m know date be this good, I cancel, but too late now.”

Sid can’t help but smile. “Don’t worry about it. I need to get back home anyway, I have a late shift at work.”

“Where you work?”

“A coffee shop.” It’s not exactly like being a hockey player in the NHL.

Geno frowns and then points towards Sid’s mug with his work. “You think my coffee is bad or good? I only buy one kind of bean, but can’t know if best kind?”

That’s...not at all the comment Sid was expecting about his job. A giggle slips out before can stop it. “Your coffee is fine.”

“I think you make better.” Geno nods to himself. “I come by sometime, buy coffee, so I know what good coffee taste like.”

Flower is going to flip if Geno ever does that. “Please warn me first, so I can lock some of my colleagues in the fridge temporarily.”

Geno laughs and squeezes Sid’s thigh. “I want meet them. You not think we get along?”

If Geno wants to meet Sid’s friends...Sid hasn’t introduced anyone to his friends since his last relationship. His ex boyfriend didn’t particularly like Flower and Tanger, and they _definitely_ didn’t like him. Geno, however, Sid can see them hit it off with immediately. “I think you’d get along great. That’s the problem.”

Just as Sid puts his dirty plate and mug in the washer a while later, Geno walks back into the kitchen dressed in jeans and a knitted sweater over a blue dress shirt. He shows Sid his phone, that’s equally dead as Sid’s own, it seems. “Sorry, I forgot charge last night—” he pokes his tongue out, grinning “—I’m too occupy with more important thing. I give you my number you call me instead?”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Sid slides his own phone from his pocket and shows it to Geno. “Mine died too. I can write my number down, though.”

“Good idea.” Geno opens a kitchen drawer that’s full of knick-knacks and digs out a pen and an empty envelope. “You work tonight, yes? I send text after meeting so you get my number too.”

Sid’s belly turns into warm liquid and he can’t stop smiling as he takes the pen from Geno. “Sounds great.”

He scribbles his phone number on the back and Geno reads it aloud to him afterwards, just to make sure he got the numbers right. Sid’s handwriting isn’t that bad!

“You ready for go?” Geno asks him then, leaving the envelope on the kitchen island, standing so close to Sid that he can smell his cologne. He smiles down at Sid, brushing his cheek with his fingertips before he leans down for a kiss. It’s brief, but sure. When he pulls away, Sid nods.

“Let’s go.”

Geno sticks closer to the speed limits today and Sid relaxes back in his seat. They don’t talk much during the ride, except for directions to the campus. “You can drop me off here,” Sid says as they approach the outskirts of his neighbourhood. It’s a maze in there, so having Geno drive him to his building is probably going to end with Sid having to come back out and give him directions out of there, too.

“You sure?” Geno asks, clearly hesitating. “Is no trouble.”

“There’s no logic in there,” Sid says and unbuckles his belt as Geno stops by the curb. “It’ll take me two minutes to walk the rest of the way, so it’s really not far.”

“Okay.” Geno turns towards him. “Thank you for best Valentine date.”

Oh right. Saying goodbye for now is something they’ll have to do. Sid pretends that he’s not blushing. “I had a good time.”

“I do too.” Geno smiles. “I send text tonight. We decide on next date, okay?”

A tension in his stomach that he wasn’t even aware of eases, and Sid nods, returning the smile. “Good luck on your meeting.”

He’s just about to get out when Geno kisses him, slow and sweet before he pulls away.

“Bye.”

“Bye.” Sid steps out of the car, sort of in a daze, and digs out the keys from his pocket as he heads the rest of the way home. He’s just about to put the key in the lock to the front door, when it swings open in front of him. Flower and Tanger are standing on the other side, as though they’ve been there ever since Sid left yesterday. Flower is drinking from his coffee mug and Tanger is chewing on a sandwich, but other than that they don’t say or do anything.

“Um,” he says, when they’re still just standing there a few seconds later.

“It’s noon,” Flower points out, raising his eyebrows and slurps his coffee obnoxiously loudly.

“I know.”

“You turned your phone off,” Tanger says.

“It died. I didn’t...I didn’t get a chance to charge it. I did text you to say that I wasn’t coming home.” Sid holds out his phone and Flower hands his mug to Tanger, before he reaches out and presses the home button.

“Okay. You’re forgiven.”

They both step aside and Sid lets out a breath as he can go inside and close the door behind him.

“You reek of sex,” Tanger says before he walks off.

“I showered!” Sid calls after him.

“It’s in your aura.”

When Sid rolls his eyes, Flower grins.

“So you had a good Valentine’s?”

Nodding, Sid steps out of his shoes. “I’ll tell you if you’ll let me sit down. And then I’ll take a nap before work.”

Flower lets him sink down at the kitchen table, and Tanger puts a plate down in front of him. It’s a PBJ sandwich.

“I’m not that hungry.”

“Did you eat breakfast?”

“Yes, he made me breakfast,” Sid says, because that’s really what they’re asking.

“Did he treat you well?”

“He did. Really well. I—he’s great.”

He rolls his eyes when Flower and Tanger high-five.

“Fuck, we’re geniuses,” Tanger says.

“Are you seeing him again?”

Sid takes a bite of the sandwich anyway—it’s PBJ. “Yeah. I gave him my number on an envelope—both our phones were dead and we were in a hurry, don’t look at me like that—and he asked me out on a second date last night even before we had sex.”

“We _are_ geniuses,” Flower agrees, turned towards Tanger.

Sid crams the last of his sandwich into his mouth and gets up. “I’m going to bed. Thanks for making sure I got home safe.”

“I’ll wake you up in time for work!” Flower calls after him.

It takes two seconds for Sid to fall asleep.

When he wakes up to Flower knocking on his door a couple of hours later, he finds a (badly) printed version of Geno’s photo from last night as well as the Instagram post it’s attached to—that’s how Instagram works, right?—slipped underneath his door. Sid picks it up and smiles despite himself, as he looks at the photograph and then Geno’s short sentence: _Best Valentine date_ and a bunch of heart-eyes emojis and a burger emoji. He’s such a dork.

Sid hides the printout away between his textbooks on the stool he uses as a nightstand.

For once, he doesn’t mind the cranky customers at work. He smiles when a lady questions if he really did use soy milk and not regular milk, and he takes the extra time to thoroughly clean the machines when it turns less busy around midnight. He checks his phone during his break, but nothing from Geno yet. Just a few notifications of emails from a few students he’s TA for.

He’s probably been busy. They have a roadtrip in a few days, don’t they? Maybe they had to sort stuff out for that. Geno was the one asking him for a second date anyway, so Sid isn’t worried.

When he gets home around three a.m. he’s too tired to care anyway. The next morning, however, he checks his phone again. And still nothing. An uncomfortable lump forms in his stomach as he pads out to the kitchen for breakfast.

Flower is already there, eating his oatmeal and watching videos on his phone, where it’s propped up against the milk jug.

“Morning,” Sid says and grabs a bowl to pour himself some yoghurt.

“Morning. How was work last night?”

“Calm. Reaves didn’t get in any arguments with a customer either.”

“Good job.”

Sid counts to seven, steeling himself and concentrating on making his breakfast bowl, before Flower says:

“So did Geno text you?”

The worst part is that he wants to lie. He wants to say that he did get a text, and that they have a date for meeting up again. But he can’t lie to Flower.

“No.”

There’s a beat of silence. “What?”

“I haven’t heard from him.” Sid sighs and sits down at the table. “I don’t get it.”

“Maybe he’s just busy or something?”

“Possibly.”

“He went through a lot of unnecessary bullshit if he didn’t want to meet up again at all. He was the one asking to see you again, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Or does Sid remember things wrong? No, he distinctly remembers Geno asking for a second date before they even had sex, and then again as he drove Sid home.

“Then he’ll text you. Or call you? Maybe that’s why he hasn’t been in touch. He could be a guy who calls.”

Sid will take anything to be honest. “Maybe.”

“If he lied, then he’s seriously messed up. No one strings someone else along just for the fun of it, if you’re not a sociopath.”

Geno really doesn’t come off as a sociopath. But on the other hand, maybe that’s why sociopaths are scary.

“He’s not a sociopath, Sid,” Flower says, as though Sid’s internal conversation has been broadcasted on his forehead.

“Sorry, I guess I don’t get it either.”

“It’ll be okay.”

Sid checks his phone the entire day and itches to do so when he’s on his TA duty. But there’s nothing from Geno. Not a text, not a missed call from an unknown number. Nothing.

So that’s that. It’s fine. This is why Sid never spends the night—no one gets their hopes up and everyone knows the deal from the start.

Then the Pens leave for a short road trip, only four days, but Sid hates that he keeps track. Hates that Geno somehow interfered with his passion for hockey. He doesn’t watch the games, but he keeps track of the scores. Most of all, he hates that he can’t help but be happy for Geno whenever he gets a goal. Whenever the Pens win.

Worst of all is that he hates himself the most for agreeing to that stupid date at all. For staying the night. For saying yes to a second one. For buying the whole PR thing.

He’s working another late shift that Friday. The plan was to have the weekend off for once, but then one of his coworkers asked him to switch shifts and honestly, Sid would rather be here, occupying his mind with obscure coffee orders than getting drunk at the party Flower and Tanger were going to.

Two hours before he’s getting off, Jen walks up to him with her best puppy eyes. “Hey, Sid.”

“You need to get out early?” he asks, refilling the coffee beans. He might as well stay the extra hour she was supposed to do. The less energy he has when he comes home, the faster he’ll fall asleep.

“Would mind? My roomies are having a party and I want to be there. I’ll take an hour for you next week.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m already here, I might as well work.”

It’s just him, Kate and Reaves left for the last hours before closing, and Sid is concentrating on refilling everything he can for the opening shift tomorrow, because that means less to do for Reaves and Kate after he clocks out. It’s been a slow evening—everyone is having dinner at home, or at a party somewhere—and he’s not in the mood for relaxing himself. He’s stacking mugs when the electronic bell over the door dings.

Sid expects a group on a road trip, a mom who’s been working late, a college student on their way home over the weekend but had to make a pit stop. Basically anything and anyone, except for Geno. But there he is. Standing just inside the door, looking tired and uncertain, with a huge bouquet of roses clutched in front of him as a shield. Long gone is the self-assured hockey captain Sid had dinner and sex with almost a week ago.

Opening his mouth, Sid wants to say something, but his mind is painfully blank. His heart is beating hard behind his ribs, and anxiety is prickling at his scalp. What the hell is Geno doing here? How does he know that Sid works here? _Why_ is he here?

Finally, Sid manages to school his face into his usual polite indifference. “What can I get you?”

“Sid,” Geno says and steps closer to the counter. “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Sid says, despite wanting to shout the exact opposite.

“Please. I want explain what happen. Can I?”

Sid has been thinking about this a lot the past few days. It doesn’t make sense, and the only conclusion he’s been able to come up with is that Geno is a complete self-absorbed dick who likes to toy with people’s feelings. However, turning up at Sid’s job with the biggest bouquet Sid’s ever seen and the shameful regret written all over his face? It doesn’t really fit with the picture.

“I don’t know,” Sid says. “I’ve been trying to forget all about it, to be honest.”

Geno’s eyes grow big, worried. “No. I don’t want that.”

At that, Sid wants to say something snarky, but that’s just rude. “Alright, go ahead, then.”

To his surprise, Geno takes his phone from his pocket as he clears his throat. “Maid throw away your number. First I think she misplace, so I ask her morning after, but she say she put in trash, she think it was just random number. Is not her fault. I’m should have put in pocket—” He makes a frustrated sound and shrugs. “When she say your number is gone, I try send direct message to your friend at Twitter. He tweet me with picture, so I think maybe he help me because I mess up?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe Tanger got your message and then didn’t care to tell me.” Hell, Tanger has been studying from home all week whenever Sid wasn’t working, just so he wouldn’t be alone.

“He not see until this morning, look.” Geno unlocks his phone and holds it out to Sid. It takes a moment for him to navigate the conversation, but when he scrolls up, the first message there really is Geno introducing himself, explaining the incident with Sid’s phone number and asking how he can get in contact with Sid. Tanger hasn’t replied until a few hours ago, apologizing profusely, but _“Twitter is so outdated, I never use it”_ . Sid skims the rest of it, but it’s basically Geno both getting Sid’s number and the address to his job, with strict instructions _not to break his fucking heart again. It doesn’t matter that it was by mistake_.

“Oh,” is all Sid manages to get out.

“So sorry.” Geno should be too large to pull off the puppy eyes, but he does. And he looks freaking heartbroken.

“I can see that,” Sid says. This turns everything upside down. He can’t be mad at Geno, when he’s basically done everything that he can.

“I even tweet, ask for you, but I only get weird reply.” Geno grimaces.

“It’s not your fault. Stuff happens. I guess, uh, I guess you found me finally, eh?”

At that, Geno starts smiling, small and hopeful. “Yes?”

Sid sighs. “Yeah. I was really upset, but it’s not like you did it on purpose. I can’t be mad at you for something that’s not your fault.”

“Little bit my fault,” Geno says and pinches his thumb and forefinger together. “Next time I save note in safe place.”

“Just put your number in my phone,” Sid says and can’t help but giggle at the absurdity of the situation. “And let me finish working.”

“You not finish? Kris say you finish now.”

“I offered to cover the last hour for my colleague, so I’m off in fifty minutes or so.”

“I wait?” Geno ventures.

“Do you want to?”

Nodding, Geno smiles again. “Yes, I wait. Maybe we talk more after?”

Sid looks at the flowers in Geno’s hands. He brought them to say sorry, and it wasn’t even that much his fault. The fact that he bothered to ask openly on social media about how to get a contact with Sid, when Sid’s friend didn’t reply, is more than Sid would’ve expected from him. They only did have one date, after all. It’s not like Geno owed him anything. But he wanted to. Clearly. He really wanted to.

He makes Geno coffee while he waits and puts it down in front of him, as Geno scrolls through something on his phone. It looks like Instagram.

“You make for me?”

“You told me you wanted to know what good coffee tastes like.”

“Sugar?” Geno asks then and Sid can’t help but roll his eyes.

“Please try without first.”

To Geno’s benefit, he does take two large sips before he turns to Sid with pleading eyes. “I like, but is better with sugar.”

“Jesus christ,” Sid says as he tosses a few packets on Geno’s table and walks away. That way he can hide his own smile that’s starting to become too big for his face.

He keeps getting distracted by Geno answering his phone or replying to texts. Again and again, Sid finds himself with his gaze stuck to Geno sitting by the table, sipping his coffee, completely immersed in his phone. He’s giving Sid space, he realizes that, respecting that he has a job to do. But Sid sort of wishes that Geno would give him a good reason to bow out of this early.

When Sid finally, finally can clock out, nerves have creeped their way back up his spine and he’s a little lost as he approaches Geno, dressed in his street clothes.

“Are you ready to go?” he asks.

Geno looks up, smile widening. “You finish?”

“Yep, just now.” Sid hesitates. “Would you mind going to my place? I think...It’d make me feel better.”

“We go to your.” Geno reaches out and squeezes his arm, before he gestures to Sid to walk out the door first.

To his surprise, Flower and Tanger are still home when they get there. They let Geno through the door, but Tanger holds Sid back when Geno walks after Flower.

“I thought you were supposed to be at a party,” Sid says.

“We were, but then I checked my Twitter at random, and realized that Geno had contacted me. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Sid is way too relieved that everything seems to sort itself out to be angry with anyone. If he’d charged his own phone, this wouldn’t have happened, either. “I’m not angry with anyone.”

“Are you okay with being here with Geno by yourself? We can definitely stay if you’d rather want that.”

“I’m not mad at him, either.” Sid smiles a little. “Why would I be? He didn’t hurt me on purpose and he tried to fix it. That’s all I can ask for.”

Tanger squeezes his shoulder. “Okay, but call if you need us to come back home.”

“Thanks for looking out for me.”

“It’s part of the deal, Sid. You know that.”

Sid does know that. That’s why they’re friends.

Then Flower and Tanger have finally left and he’s left alone with Geno in his shitty apartment. Geno doesn’t seem to mind the downgrade from his house, though, instead he sits down at the kitchen table when Sid does. The roses are in a beer glass on the counter. He should look into buying a vase at some point, probably.

“You look nervous?” Geno puts it as a question, and there’s a crease of worry between his eyebrows.

Is he nervous? Maybe. It’s mostly like his head is spinning like crazy with everything that’s happened in just a couple of hours. “I think I’m just overwhelmed.”

“You want I go?” Geno asks, and reaches over the table to squeeze Sid’s hand. “Is no problem. We can talk tomorrow or other day if you want. I know is unexpect for you.”

“Do you really want to see me again?”

“Yes, I want very much. But only if you want.”

Sid smiles then, heart warming a little at the soft look in Geno’s eyes. “I want that too.”

“Okay.”

Sid turns his hand, palm up, and interlaces his fingers with Geno’s. “Okay.”

At their second date, Geno takes a new picture of them and posts it on Instagram. _I find him and I’m not let go this time._

The following year on Valentine’s Day they go back to the same restaurant where they first met, for burgers and cheesecake. Much like last year, Geno takes Sid home with him, but this time Sid doesn’t go home the next day. Or any day after that.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come hang out with me on [tumblr](http://ljummen.tumblr.com)!


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